The Hoary Grove

Navigating through the unpredictable waves of magical practice affirms the necessity of resilience and adaptability. Each twist and turn in this journey reveals new insights, reinforcing the timeless adage that in the realm of the occult, certainty is an illusion, and perseverance remains our most steadfast companion.

Reading from the Clavicle of the Sun and the invocations to Jupiter from the Hygromanteia, Clavicula, and Book of Oberon, I prostrate myself with my head to the ground and arms extended to the East, making my personal petitions to a select few Saints and Jupiter once more for assurance. The saints I've been reaching out to Santa Muerte and Saint Barbara, who has relics nearby, along with the Blessed Virgin Mary and Saint Francis, whose large monastery I pass daily.

In "Forbidden Rites: A Necromancer’s Manual of the Fifteenth Century" by Richard Kieckheffer. The introduction mentions an interesting point:

"The numinous quality of a book of magic could resemble that of a liturgical or devotional book, and sometimes the line between a devotional and a magical work could be ambiguous. The chronicle of Saint Denis recounts how in 1323 a monk of Morigny was found to possess a book of devotions that aroused suspicion."

This dual nature of devotional and magical texts fascinates. Persistent uncertainty of outcomes and the precarious balance between success and failure kept magic-users vigilant and humbled.

John of Morigny’s journey is quite an extraordinary one and worth mention here, blending ecclesiastical devotion with the esoteric practices of the Ars Notoria. Despite the inherent tensions between orthodox Christian beliefs and the methods of mysticism, he found a unique synergy that catered to his spiritual aspirations. His work, deeply infused with worship of the Virgin Mary, illustrates a seamless integration of religious reverence and magical practice.

In a compelling vision, the Virgin Mary, referred to as the "most potent queen of heaven, the glorious and undefiled mother of God," guided him. This illustrious figure, whom he saw as his "friend and helper, most swift counselor, and most sweet and true comforter," instructed him to document his experiences for her praise and glory. Such divine endorsement allowed John to embark on his mystical pursuits without the usual self-doubt that accompanies treading the thin line between heresy and devotion.

Santa Muerte, the powerful figure of folk devotion known as the "Holy Death," standing in her power but also as a counterweight to the Virgin Mary blurs the lines between orthodoxy and the mystical, standing as both a protector and an embodiment of the unknown. Revered as a divine intermediary, she is seen not with the distant purity of canonical saints but as an immediate, visceral presence—one who walks alongside the marginalized and those who seek solace outside traditional religious boundaries. Devotees view her as a guide who offers swift and practical counsel, much like the Virgin Mary’s role in sanctioned mystical visions. Santa Muerte’s guidance treads a liminal path, straddling the delicate boundary between sanctity and taboo, allowing her followers to engage in a spirituality that is both deeply personal and strikingly subversive, finding comfort and empowerment in her skeletal form, free from the constraints of ecclesiastical judgment.

John of Morigny’s narrative defies the conventional dichotomy between sanctified faith and the so-called ‘nefarious’ sciences. John's vision and subsequent actions indicate a fluidity that challenges the rigid boundaries often imposed by religious authorities. By incorporating the Ars Notoria into his spiritual regimen, John aspired to achieve a holistic understanding of both divine and worldly knowledge. His endeavors underscore a medieval attempt to reconcile the sacred with the mystical, seeking enlightenment that transcends conventional dogma.

John’s story, thus, becomes an early example of a form of spiritual pluralism, where accepted religious practices and esoteric knowledge coalesce. Our modern understanding of magical practices often segments them into isolated categories, but John’s experience invites us to reconsider these boundaries.

In the broader context of occult history, figures like John of Morigny remind us that the pursuit of knowledge and enlightenment has always been multifaceted. Whether invoking the Virgin Mary or mysterious, ancient names, the quest to transcend ordinary understanding remains a timeless endeavor. The merging of divine devotion with mystical practice in John's work underscores the rich, intricate tapestry of esoteric traditions, inviting us to view them not as disparate threads but as an interconnected whole.

Thus, the story of John of Morigny offers a fascinating glimpse into how spiritual and magical practices can be interwoven, challenging us to think beyond conventional separations of sacred and arcane, and to appreciate the complex history of the occult.

The focus of this exploration is the Lovecraft tale “The Lurking Fear”, an early 20th-century exploration of the haunted Catskills Mountains. The narrative unfolds on the eerily deserted Tempest Mountain, linked with early Dutch settlers. This connection, albeit spectral, offers an intriguing glimpse into Lovecraft's storytelling.

The protagonist describes the haunting scene:

"The lurking fear dwelt in the shunned and deserted Martense mansion, which crowned the high but gradual eminence. For a hundred years, the antique, grove-circled stone house had been the subject of stories... of a silent colossal creeping death which stalked abroad in summer."

This creeping death is given a tangible form when it is noted, "The ground under one of the squatters' villages had caved in after a lightning stroke, destroying several of the malodorous shanties..."

Lightning strikes and thunderstorms are quintessentially Lovecraftian, especially the element of the lightning strike. For those inclined to perform magic with a Lovecraftian aesthetic, this is an essential component. As the classic grimoire, the Clavicula of Solomon, calls for clear dark skies because spirits cannot tolerate light or walking on earth out of view of the stars, Lovecraftian spirits demand storm-laden skies, coming to life when the sky ignites the earth. Aligning this with the often-discussed aesthetic of the Tower, we observe a Cybele/Saint Barbara connection to the practice of Lovecraftian magic.

August 5th, 1921, is the pivotal date for "The Lurking Fear." A plausible location match is the Overlook Mountain Hotel and nearby Kingston, NY. While not an exact replica, the Overlook Mountain Hotel has ties that resonate with the narrative. "The Lurking Fear" contains complexities I couldn't decode within a week's research. Later references to Cone Mountain and Maple Hill suggest additional connections, and there is a Maple Hill in the same vicinity. Although it's possible that the Overlook Mountain designation might be incorrect, its association with Stephen King's "The Shining" and the actual ruins of a mansion on the mountain make it a fitting candidate for our exploration.

The narrator enlists the help of two companions, George Bennet and William Tobey, to investigate, driven by these contemplations:

The thunder seemed to summon forth a death-daemon from some dreadful realm. Whether this entity was a tangible being or an insubstantial pestilence mattered little; it was an apparition our narrator was determined to witness. The decision to stay overnight in a ruined mansion was fraught with peril, especially considering the narrator's vivid recollections during the subsequent lightning storm. The narrator's sleep, disturbed by increasing thunder, brought forth apocalyptic visions, affirming the successful invocation of a Lovecraftian Enchantment. Such dreams, filled with horror and doom, have often foreshadowed spirit contact in Lovecraft's tales.

In an unsurprising turn of events, the narrator and his companions are besieged, with the narrator emerging as the sole survivor. He marvels at his continued existence and sanity, unable to comprehend how he survived the encounter with a blasphemous abnormality from the abyss. This creature, an un-anthropomorphic entity without form yet embodying all shapes, evoked the same unsettling imagery encountered in other Lovecraft narratives.

Following the tragic demise of his first companions, the narrator seeks out another individual, an ethnologist named Arthur Monroe. Monroe meets a grisly end during an expedition, killed in front of the narrator's eyes as he peered out of a shack during a torrential storm. His untimely death spurs rampant speculation about the mansion’s former owners, from which the Lurking Fear is said to emanate.

Once again alone, the narrator is plunged deeper into the mysteries surrounding the haunted mansion. Determined to uncover the source of the terror, he delves into the dark history and chilling legends associated with the place. Each revelation intensifies the atmosphere of dread, as the true nature of the lurking presence begins to take shape in his mind. With every step forward, the line between reality and nightmare blurs further, drawing the narrator closer to the heart of the ancient evil that resides within the mansion's decaying walls.

The passage "I now believed that the lurking fear was… a wolf-fanged ghost that rode the midnight lightning... I believed... the ghost was that of Jan Martense, who died in 1762..." immerses us in a tale where the supernatural intersects with historical intrigue. Lovecraft intertwines the story of Jan Martense with early American events such as the Albany Convention and Leisler Rebellion, linking these upheavals to Martense’s murder. Our narrator, gripped by the idea that Martense’s spectral presence is responsible for recent deaths, begins to excavate his grave. The search leads him to an unexpected discovery:

"My slight fall had extinguished the lantern, but I produced an electric pocket lamp and viewed the small horizontal tunnel which led away indefinitely in both directions. It was amply large enough for a man to wriggle through; and though no sane person would have tried... I forgot danger... in my single-minded fever to unearth the lurking fear. Choosing the direction toward the house, I scrambled recklessly into the narrow burrow..."

This shift in "The Lurking Fear" takes us on a chthonic journey, embodying the profound and the subterranean. Our antagonist is revealed to be reminiscent of the albino apes described in other Lovecraft stories, such as "Arthur Jerymyn" and the very early "The Beast in the Cave." These creatures are suggested to be the horrendous products of generations of isolated breeding and cannibalistic behavior.

Cannibalistic themes reappear in other works like "Pickman’s Model," where ghouls exhibit similar traits. This trope of ‘cannibal nutrition’ is ripe for further exploration. The ‘white apes’ themselves carry symbolic weight. Thoth, the Egyptian deity of wisdom, is sometimes depicted not only with the head of an ibis but also as an elderly, white-caped baboon, often seen sitting behind a scribe to oversee their work.

The Sola-Busca Two of Cups is particularly interesting when juxtaposed against the tale of “The Lurking Fear”. This unique deck, renowned for its intricate and often alchemical imagery, presents a vivid depiction that aligns well with Lovecraftian themes. The card portrays two figures engaged in a mystical exchange, their cups symbolizing a transfer of esoteric knowledge or cosmic power. This imagery evokes the notion of forbidden knowledge and the profound, often unsettling impact it has on those who encounter it—an idea that runs rife throughout Lovecraft’s stories.

It is fascinating to note that in Christian symbology, the ape is often regarded negatively, interpreted as a distorted reflection of humanity and an emblem of vices such as vanity, greed, and lechery. This perspective aligns somewhat with Lovecraft’s well-documented anti-alcohol and pro-Prohibition stance.

Turning our attention to the esoteric realm, our tarot card for this week is the Two of Cups. Initially, this card seemed challenging to connect with Lovecraft's works, given its traditional associations with love and desire—emotions that are notably sparse in his oeuvre. However, after a thorough analysis, a compelling connection emerged.

In the Etteilla tarot deck, the Two of Cups bears the keywords Love (when upright) and Desire (when reversed). The term Love can trace its origins to the Proto-Indo-European root *leubh-, which intriguingly relates to the Sanskrit lobhaya-, meaning 'to make crazy'. Desire, on the other hand, can be linked to the phrase de sidere—‘from the stars’. Therefore, the keywords Amour and Desir on the Etteilla Two of Cups can be interpreted as ‘Something from the stars that makes one crazy’, an apt description for the themes prevalent in Lovecraft’s universe.

To delve further into specific examples, we can examine the Sola-Busca Two of Cups...

Understanding the significance of shapes and symbols assists us in connecting with the essence of the card. One piece of technology that might be relevant here is the triangular shape of the cup. This, ostensibly, could tie into broader symbolisms and meanings within the occult framework.

In many esoteric traditions, shapes, and symbols carry profound significance. The triangular shape, for instance, often represents a trinity of some sort—whether it be mind, body, and spirit, or another triadic relationship. This can manifest in various occult practices, ranging from the symbolism found in tarot to the geometric considerations in alchemical diagrams.

Triangles are rich in symbolic meaning, often representing balance, harmony, and the integration of disparate elements into a cohesive whole. This shape's presence in the cup might encourage a deeper contemplation of how different forces and influences converge, particularly in relation to the card or figure being studied.

When considering items such as cards or other divinatory tools in occult practices, the shapes and symbols they feature are rarely random. They are steeped in layers of meaning that practitioners must decode to unlock their full significance. Hence, recognizing and diving into these shapes' implications can unveil new dimensions of understanding and interpretation.

In the context of the occult, every detail has the potential to be a key that opens doors to further esoteric knowledge. By paying close attention to these shapes and their symbolic resonance, one can enhance their grasp of the broader mystical landscape they are exploring.

Understanding the symbolic power of geometric shapes, such as those found everywhere in architecture ruined and whole, in alchemical and magical traditions provides significant insight into the occult. Consider the inverted triangle, a prominent alchemical symbol for water, representing a downward flow. This shape has symbolized femininity, ostensibly mimicking the form of female genitalia. The element of water, characterized by cold and moist properties, also signifies intuition, the unconscious mind, and the life-generating forces of the womb.

When paired with the triangle of fire, which points upward exemplifying an ascendant force, the Seal of Solomon emerges. In tarot, water is often depicted as a chalice or cup, embodying the essence of this elemental force.

Taking this further, the hourglass shape, with its two opposing triangles, is particularly compelling. This form encapsulates the convergence of the divine and earthly realms, as the sky metaphorically meets the earth in a metaphysical union.

In H.P. Lovecraft's "The Lurking Fear," we witness this symbolic hourglass come to life. Each time Jupiter’s lightning strikes Cybele, it reawakens the chthonic creatures, allowing them to traverse from their subterranean abodes to the surface world. This cyclical interaction between the celestial and terrestrial mirrors the profound depth attributed to these ancient symbols.